The-Fruitcake-Who-Lived
by Yewchung
Summary: When Voldemort goes to kill the Potters, he encounters a fruitcake, and decides to destroy that first. However, the spell bounces back, killing Voldemort, and leaving a fruitcake with a piece of his soul lodged within it behind. Thus began the tale of the Fruitcake-Who-Lived.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No fruitcakes were harmed in the making of this Fanfiction.

* * *

One day, Lord Voldemort decided to pay a visit to the Potters.

Now, the Potters weren't particularly good friends with Voldemort. Far from it, in fact. You see, the Potters had actually been quite rude to Voldemort, and on three different occasions as well. Regardless, Voldemort was quite willing to put that all behind them in the spirit of forgiveness.

Today, Voldemort was visiting the Potters because he had just heard about their new son, Harry. You see, although Voldemort very much loved children, one of his dark rituals had made him infertile, so he could never have children of his own. But this didn't stop Voldemort from expressing his love. As a result, Voldemort spent quite a bit of his time taking care of other's children for them. Today, he was going to see the Potters to ask about exactly that.

Voldemort knocked at the door to the Potter home, but found the door unlocked, so he let himself in. He was admiring the fine tapestry when James Potter, the boy's father, ran out into the hall and started to yell at Voldemort. Voldemort thought this quite rude, so he cast a spell on James to stop him from yelling. With that dealt with, Voldemort wandered about the house looking for Lily, to see if perhaps she would be somewhat less rude.

He found Lily standing in the kitchen, with the baby Harry at her side. Voldemort called a friendly greeting to Lily, but evidently she had picked up some of her husband's rudeness, so she began to yell at Voldemort as well.

Voldemort was quite disappointed in Lily, but decided to see if he could ask her to stop yelling without using a spell, like his friend Snape had suggested. Voldemort asked Lily if she could perhaps please stop being rude, as the noise was hurting her head.

Lily civilly, though still quite loudly, informed him that Voldemort couldn't have Harry, and neither could he have her fruitcake either. The fruitcake, she said, had been ripening for three months now, and it would be quite a waste to destroy it. Instead, she asked that Voldemort merely quiet her, but leave the baby and the fruitcake be.

Now, Voldemort, being the clever fellow that he was, knew that once she was quieted, Lily could no longer hold him to his promise. So, crossing his fingers behind his back, he agreed to her terms and cast the quieting spell on Lily. Giggling at his trickery, Voldemort stepped forwards to the baby Harry. The baby made some noises, but wasn't particularly rude, unlike his parents. Still, Voldemort knew that he would have to keep Harry quiet while he took care of him.

He was just raising his wand when he noticed Lily's fruitcake sitting on the counter. He grinned as he thought of another mischief he could perform, and so he decided to explode the fruitcake as well. Giggling, he pointed his wand at the fruitcake, and cast a spell to make it explode.

Then the spell bounced back and blew him up instead.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore walked solemnly through the ashes of the Potter home, averting his eyes as he passed by the corpses of James and Lily Potter. He stepped into the kitchen, where the current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Bones, was overseeing a group of forensics wizards. The entire group was standing clustered around a glistening fruitcake on the kitchen counter, with a large lightning bolt shaped crack running through it.

Amelia looked up as Albus entered the room. "Out timestamping confirmed it," she said. "The fruitcake was created, by both Lily and James Potter, on the eve of July 31st."

Albus groaned as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "_born to those who have thrice defied him, both as the seventh month dies..._" He sighed deeply. "Do we have any idea how he was killed?"

Amelia shook her head. "All we've been able to pick up from the spell signatures is that he cast a spell to destroy the fruitcake, and somehow the spell bounced back."

Nodding, Albus filed this information away. He wasn't sure how this would fit in with his Love hypothesis, but he knew that something, at least, had happened here. Albus decided to shift the conversation to a more rational subject. "How is the boy?"

Amelia's visage lightened a bit at this. "He's doing quite well, considering. We've found no signs of any damage on the boy, so he should be perfectly fine." She chuckled. "Kind of funny, isn't it. The guy came here trying to kill the kid, and yet he's the one that ends up dead."

Albus nodded in agreement, and the two of them stood in silence as they let the cost of this victory go unsaid between them.

Amelia was the first to break the silence. "So what's going to happen to the kid?" she asked.

Albus considered this. "His parents named Sirius Black his godfather, but considering the circumstances, I wouldn't say giving him the boy that his master died whilst trying to kill is a good idea." He considered this further. "James doesn't have any living relatives, and Lily's only relatives are a pair of magic hating Muggles. I would hate to see Harry raised by them, though I suppose they'll have to do if there are no other options. Hmm." He lowered his head in thought.

Suddenly Amelia had a thought. "Why don't I take him?" she said. "My brother has a child about his age, so they'll likely enter Hogwarts together. After all, he's just a normal child, and I've been thinking about having a child anyways."

Albus thought over this suggestion, but found nothing wrong with it. "Very well, Amelia. I suppose that James and Lily would have been quite happy with this decision. I trust you can manage the paperwork?" Amelia nodded.

"Alright then," said Albus. "Now that that's settled, all that's left is figuring out what to do with that fruitcake."

The two of them turned to the Fruitcake-Who-Lived, and sighed.

* * *

A/N: I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I'M DOING

This is what happens when I try to write fanfiction after eating large quantities of ice cream.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This Fanfiction is not meant as a guide for the proper handling of possessed fruitcakes. Please do not treat it as such.

* * *

The piece of Voldemort's soul that was lodged inside of the fruitcake first became aware of its own existence shortly after being placed onto a dusty shelf in the back of Dumbledore's office. Its first thoughts went something like this.

_Man, old Dumbly needs to clean this place up. Wait, did I just think? Oh!_ it realised, _I exist!_

The fruitcake tried to trace the chain of events that led up to its existence, but could only vaguely remember a few things about babies and potters and rats. Eventually it decided that it's past seemed to be a mystery, and so it left it at that.

Having pondered the question of its own existence as far as it could, the fruitcake decided to turn its attention to its senses.

_I seem to be able to see,_ it decided, _and hearing seems to be a thing as well._ The fruitcake briefly pondered how it could possibly see or hear with neither eyes nor ears, but quickly shelved that thought for another time. _I'm not sure about taste, smell, or touch though. There is, after all, a distinct lack of things to taste or smell, myself excepted._ The fruitcake thus decided to tenuously declare its number of working senses to be two, but with room for error.

Moving onto the next topic, the fruitcake decided to put these probably two senses to work. It scanned the room with its vision, and listened for any sounds. Noticing that there were an awful lot of objects in view, it decided to make a list.

Ah, lists. Somehow, the fruitcake was sure that in its past life, it had a great love of lists, especially in groups of thirteen. Maybe there was a list of babies, or potters, or rats? Once again shelving this thought, the fruitcake went about listing everything it could see.

My List (of things I can see and/or hear):

- Me (Looking nice and shiny today, if I do say so myself)

- A wooden shelf (My current place of rest. Would look better in green)

- Several golden devices (Doing everything from spinning to hurlsquishchucking. Making way too much noise)

- A bird in a cage (Very golden and shiny. Making all the rest of the noise)

- A hat (Old and wrinkly. I seem to remember it from somewhere…

The list trailed off as the fruitcake regarded the hat. Somehow, this hat seemed familiar. A memory briefly swam to the surface… _the hat sat upon the young boy's head, and… yes, Slytherin would help you to reach your dreams, but many terrible things… "SLYTHERIN", the hat cried, and the boy stood up to join his…_

The fruitcake started, and the memory was broken, floating back into the recesses of the fruitcake's sugar-filled mind. Though it mourned the memory's loss, the fruitcake now had at least some information with which to proceed. _So the hat can talk? Could it be like me?_

The fruitcake looked at the hat, which sat directly next to it on the shelf. The hat was quite a bit taller than the fruitcake, and it seemed to be made from some form of brightly glistening leather. Regarding this shining monstrosity, the fruitcake tried its best to speak. 'Hello good sir, how are you-' The fruitcake cut itself off as it realised that it wasn't producing any sound, though this should have been obvious, considering it had no mouth, nor vocal chords for that matter.

Thus, the fruitcake was just as surprised as you no doubt are to receive a response. 'How am I what?' spoke a sharp voice, somehow seeming to resonate throughout every fiber (or rather, every carbohydrate?) of the fruitcake's being. 'How am I alive? How am I able to speak telekinetically? How am I able to keep my surface so well polished and smooth? If it's the last one, the answer is a good scrubbing in Mermaid oil every week, and a fair amount of elbow grease on the part of the Headmaster.'

If the fruitcake had a mouth, it was sure that it would be hanging open. 'Um, hi,' it said, quite lamely. The fruitcake found itself quite at a loss for what to ask, so it decided to tackle the questions in order of relevance. 'I'd like an answer to the second one, please.'

The hat seemed to chuckle, a movement that somehow shook the hat like a wave. 'A common property of magical items. I assume from the question that you're new.'

Thinking back to the haze of its past, the fruitcake decided that this was likely true. 'It seems likely, yes. I don't suppose you could tell me how I came to be?'

The hat's cone shook, in an imitation of a human head gesture, made all the stranger when one considers that hats are generally seated atop human heads. 'I can't think of a reason why a wizard would impart life into a fruitcake, nor why old Dumbles would put you on this extra importance shelf with me. Perhaps he's thinking of eating you?'

The fruitcake visibly became a few shades whiter in horror. The hat laughed heartily at this, its leather surface now waving about like a giraffe in a tornado.

'Heh. Nah, old Dumbles would never eat you,' the hat assured. 'and not just because his teeth are too rotten to even bite into you. The man may be old and codgy, but he respects life, even that of inanimate object like myself.' The hat smiled wistfully, the corners of the crack near its brim turning up at the corners. 'Let me tell you, before Dumbles, I had some Headmasters who would just lock me in a box all year and forget about me, and others who felt the need to parade around with me on their heads all the time.'

The hat seemed to realise that it was rambling, and so brought itself back to the present. 'Well, it'll be nice to have someone new to talk to.' It bowed its point towards the fruitcake. 'The Sorting Hat, at your service.'

The fruitcake suddenly panicked, as it realised it didn't have a name. "The Fruitcake" certainly wasn't a name. It was a description, though The Sorting Hat seemed fine with it. Somehow, however, the fruitcake knew that it needed a real name, one that it could be proud of. A few names from its past floated through the fruitcake's mind, sweeping past before they could be fully examined. A large one floated through, but that name gave the fruitcake a lot of bad feelings, so it moved on. Soon it got to a few more recent names, jumbling around.

James… Lily… the names jumbled around, but eventually the fruitcake pulled a name out that sounded good, and didn't have that subtle feeling of guilt and anger attached to it.

'Pleased to meet you, Sorting Hat. The name's Jamesley.'

* * *

A/N: While looking up fruitcakes, I discovered that fruitcake also means "A person who is completely insane", which I think describes pre-death Voldemort quite well. Huzzah for happy coincidences.

I should have called this "Voldemort the Fruitcake".


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Winners don't do fruitcakes.

* * *

Jamesley suddenly felt that something was _wrong_.

He wasn't quite sure how to describe it, but somehow he had a vague feeling of _wrongness_ about him, somehow concentrated at his top side. Jamesley tried running a quick diagnosis, but soon discovered that he had no idea how the physiology of a fruitcake worked, and so decided instead to try looking around him for the source of this wrongness.

Very quickly, he discovered the source to be the golden bird from before, which was now pecking at him.

'Agh! Gerroff you bird!' he cried, or at least tried to cry, towards the bird. However, due to his lack of a mouth, he was unable to make any sound to deter the bird.

The Sorting Hat, however, was not so restricted. "Oy, you lousy sack of feathers," it said, vocalising this using a slit near its brim. "Stop that! That fruitcake's alive!"

The Phoenix looked up from its pecking to look at the Sorting Hat oddly. "Whoa man," it squawked from its beak, "it's a talking hat."

The Sorting Hat groaned, a sound that caused its brim to vibrate slightly. "Merlin, Fawkes. Have you been at the sugar again?"

Now, one thing you must understand about Phoenixes is that to them, sugar is more than just a sweet powder that is added to dough or slapped out of the hands of small children. You see, Phoenixes emanate fire all the time, and doing so takes an awful lot of energy and puts them under a great deal of stress, much like an overworked office worker or a college student with a test due the next day. And like the office worker or college student, Phoenixes learned to turn to various substances to alleviate this stress. Chief amongst these substances is sugar, as the crystals provide sufficient energy to power the Phoenix's combustion. The consumption of sugar takes the strain off of the Phoenixes, allowing them to drop into a more relaxed state. Thus, sugar is practically essential for the Phoenix body, and is desired by them more than anything.

Jamesley, however, knew none of this. Thus, is it perfectly acceptable for you to laugh when he asks the Sorting Hat, 'What's all this about sugar?'

Ha ha, you might say, I know something that he does not! How ironic! At this point, however, you must remember that Jamesley also knows a great many things that you do not, such how it feels to be a fruitcake, or the true meaning of human existence. However, I suggest we move on from all this finger pointing about who knows what, or how they know it, and bring ourselves back to the story at hand.

'What's all this about sugar?' asked Jamesley, quite confused by this statement (as has been previously established).

The Sorting Hat grumbled, and told Jamesley that he would explain it to him later. Then, the hat turned back to the flaming bird. "Fawkes, don't eat that fruitcake. That's my new friend Jamesley."

"Oh," said Fawkes. As confused as the bird was by this turn of events, it still knew that friends were not for eating. That old habit had been trained out of him by the Headmaster after the third gerbil had disappeared. Still, old habits died hard. "Couldn't I just have a bit of a nibble?" he asked pleadingly.

The Sorting Hat's mouth slit bent into a frown. "No Fawkes, you may not even have a nibble. If you want sugar so badly, why don't you go bug the house elves?"

Fawkes threw his head back and groaned. "Man, I wish I could. Ol' Dumbie told 'em not to give me any more sugars though. Said it was gonna make me fat." The Phoenix straightened back up, muttering a few choice words about what he thought of Dumbledore's opinion.

"Well you're certainly not eating Jamesley," said the Sorting Hat. "Why don't I explain to old Dumbles that you need the sugar? Then you'll be able to have all the sugar you want."

Fawkes perked up at this. "You'd do that for me man? Thanks loads!" Then the bird hesitated. "Wait, but you can't ask Dumbie until he gets back, and that might be hours. I don't think I can last that long, man." He began to jump from foot to foot impatiently, as if the simple occurrence of this thought made it suddenly that much more unbearable for him to wait.

The Sorting Hat somehow rolled its eyes (despite not having eyeballs). "Alright Fawkes, how about this. Why don't you pick me up and Flash to the kitchens with me. Then, I'll tell the House Elves about your little situation, and you bring me back here. Then, you get all the sugar you want, and you don't have to bother Jamesley and I anymore. Are you happy with that plan?"

Fawkes was evidently extremely happy with that plan, so much so that he tried to give the Sorting Hat a hug, forgetting that burning birds and leather hats don't generally mix very well. The Sorting Hat was luckily able to prevent its own demise, and soon Fawkes was instead preparing to Flash both himself and his passenger off.

Suddenly Jamesley spoke up. 'Hey, Sorting Hat. I don't suppose I could come along with you two to the kitchens, could I?'

The Sorting Hat raised an eyebrow, but still signaled to Fawkes to wait. 'You want to go to the kitchens? Are you sure about that, Jamesley? What if you're mistaken for a simple foodstuff, or chopped up by some House Elf?'

But Jamesley was as determined as he was sugar filled. 'Even though I just came into existence not long ago, I already know that I won't be content to spend my entire life just sitting here on this shelf. I want to go out and do things, maybe have adventures, and this sounds exactly like the start of an adventure.'

The hat shrugged, raising and lowering its brim slightly. 'Well, I suppose that's fair.' "Fawkes!" he called out loud, "Looks like you have another passenger. Bring Jamesley along as well, and no mid-flight snacking!" The bird's mischievous grin that had appeared when the hat mentioned bringing Jamesley suddenly disappeared, and Fawkes grumbled a bit, annoyed, as he picked the two of them up.

The group of three rose a few centimeters before disappearing in a flash of light. Thus began the Adventure of Sugary Kitchens.

* * *

A/N: Yay! Adventures!

Today's Phoenix Fact is brought to you by The Phoenix Magazine, your all-in-one stop for information, guides, and tips about your pet Phoenix.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This Fanfiction was made with the same equipment as a fruitcake.

* * *

Jamesley was pretty sure that if he looked up the word "chaos" in the dictionary, it would be a picture of the Hogwarts kitchen.

Actually, scratch that. If a picture dictionary _existed_, and one that had pictures of the magical world as well, _and_ Jamesley owned a copy of that book, _then_ he could probably find a picture of the Hogwarts kitchen under "chaos".

Regardless, such a dictionary probably doesn't exist, and Jamesley, being a fruitcake, certainly didn't own a copy. Thus, you'll just have to imagine that he does.

The three of them appeared in the Hogwarts kitchen with a burst of fire that completely terrified the House Elves that were the closest to their arrival point. Which, considering Fawkes had managed to have them arrive directly in the middle of the food preparation table, was quite a lot of them. The scene was so utterly filled with tools, elves, and food, that Jamesley briefly considered trying to make a list, before realising that if he did, he would be here forever.

"Augh!" cried one House Elf, named Malty, who was so startled by their arrival that he reflexively threw the dish he was working on at Fawkes.

Using his Sugar Sense, a psychic sensing energy honed through decades of insane sugar consumption, Fawkes was able to quickly detect the sugarlessness of this dish, and thus destroyed it with a burst of fire.

"Man, what's up with chucking foodstuffs at me? That was so unsugary that it made my Sugar Sense try to kill itself," said Fawkes unhappily, landing in the middle of the table and dropping the Sorting Hat and Jamesley before landing a bit unsteadily himself.

The Sorting Hat bowed apologetically to the distraught House Elf. "I am greatly sorry for my companion's behavior," he said. "I hope that we have not disrupted your cooking too much."

Malty stood there in shock and horror for a few moments, mourning the loss of his dish. Behind him, all of the other House Elves in the kitchen burst into cheers.

"Oh thank Merlin!" cried one. "It has at long last been destroyed!" cried another. "Guys, don't be rude to Malty," said one, but he was quickly ignored.

One particularly happy House Elf came over to Fawkes to shake his hand- er, wing. "Oh great Phoenix, Bringer of Flames and Destroyer of Malty's Cooking, ask for anything and we shall give it to you."

Jamesley looked troubled, or at least, looked as troubled as a fruitcake can look. This pretty much translated to some of his fruits and nuts twisting uncomfortably. 'Um, Hat? Could you ask them why they're so happy about this Malty's cooking being destroyed?'

The Sorting Hat nodded, then spoke out loud. "My friend here would like to know why you are all so happy about this," he said.

One scrawny looking House Elf stepped forwards nervously. "Um, you see, great Sorting Hat, the problem here is, well you see, Malty, who is that House Elf over there, Malty is, well…"

A much larger House Elf interrupted him. "Malty's cooking sucks," he said, flatly.

Malty looked at the big House Elf, offended. "My cooking does not 'suck', it is simply far to sophisticated for a droll such as yourself to understand! Like all _avant garde_ artists, my work is misunderstood by the ignorant masses."

The House Elf chuckled. "No, we understand 'Year-Aged Dried Horseradish-Cheese' just fine."

Now, before you begin to feel bad for Malty, it must be established that his cooking really does suck. While some, such as Malty himself, would argue that taste is subjective, the suckiness of Malty's cooking is certainly not a matter of opinion, unless one finds dying of poison, and nasty tasting poison at that, enjoyable. Even if they did, they likely wouldn't last long enough to tell anybody about how delicious they found the food. It is really only through Malty's continued insistence that he can cook, and the efforts of the other Elves to destroy the cooking before it can reach the Hogwarts tables, that Malty continues to work in the kitchens.

Currently, though, Fawkes decided that he'd had quite enough of this last paragraph. "Hey, don't I get my request, dudes and dudettes?"

The various House Elves all turned to him, and the one from earlier immediately threw himself at Fawkes' feet (or rather, talons). "Oh great Feller of Foul Food, Destroyer of Disgusting Dishes, Razer of Rancid Rations, Annihilator of Abhorrent Aliments, Smusher of Sicky Stuff, yadda yadda yadda, ask and you shall receive!"

Fawkes got a silly grin on his face, and he smirked at the Sorting Hat superiorly. "Looks like I don't need your help anymore, Hatty. Gimme all the sugar you got!" he demanded.

The collected House Elves gasped. "Anything but that!" said one elf, who had turned white as a sheet and was shaking like a washing machine that had been set to high while it had a brick in it.

The Sorting Hat actually raised a fold in its fabric that resembled an eyebrow at that. "What is the problem?" he asked inquisitively.

The House Elf was too nervous to speak, so the large House Elf from earlier took over. "All our sugar was stolen a few days ago, by a Kitchen Gremlin" he said gruffly. "The Gremlin took all the sugar bags and ran off with them to his lair in the deepest levels of the kitchen. He's been holding the sugar hostage, and demanding that we bake him giant cakes in return for the sugar. This extra work, in addition to the normal Hogwarts load, means that us Kitchen Elves have been getting almost no sleep."

The House Elf looked sorrowfully at his companions, who, Jamesley just noticed, seemed very weary and tired, almost to the point of falling asleep on their feet. Jamesley felt so bad for them, that he almost didn't notice when he started talking to the Sorting Hat.

'Tell them that we'll get the sugar back for them,' he said, his voice firm and determined.

The Sorting Hat regarded him with surprise, but nodded. "Elves," he said loudly, "We will recover your lost sugar for you." Fawkes seemed about to object, but when he remembered what was on the line, he merely nodded in agreement.

The Elves' relief and thankfulness was apparent, especially as some began to fall to their knees and thank them. The Sorting Hat nodded to Fawkes, and the Phoenix flew over and picked the two of them up again.

Suddenly the big House Elf stepped forwards again. "We thank you so much for this, but I worry that you may not know the way. The Hogwarts Kitchens are complex and dangerous, and those not sufficiently well versed in its corridors may find themselves lost in its twisting corridors."

The Sorting Hat nodded. "Thank you for warning us of this. I understand that the journey will be very dangerous, and possibly wrought with peril, but could one of you accompany us to guide us?"

The room fell into silence, as every House Elf in the room turned to look at Malty.

* * *

A/N: House Elves! They make food and stuff.

Personally, I think Malty's food tastes awesome. By which I mean the taste is so bad that it inspires awe. The fact that I had to build up a resistance to all forms of poison before being able to taste enough to tell you that only adds to the awe.

* * *

Pixel and Stephanie Forever: I don't know yet, but it's likely that Jamesley will attend Hogwarts at some point, probably along with Harry. Keep in mind, though, that within the story it's still November 1st, 1981. That is, the day after Voldemort's death. If the story continues at this rate, it'll be at least 18,250 chapters before the start of Book 1. And I don't think FanFiction will allow that many chapters.


End file.
